


Augur

by tentacledicks



Series: Nachtwald [2]
Category: Watch Dogs (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Monster Hunters, Domestic Fluff, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Multi, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2020-09-06 06:18:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20286793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tentacledicks/pseuds/tentacledicks
Summary: He woke up first, because he always woke up first—old habit, hard to break. Further down the road, in the human village that bordered on the edges of the Nachtwald, Horatio had the same damn problem; the Order was a lot of things, but religiously punctual was definitely one of them. Since he was always in the middle of the pile, it meant he got an hour or two before sunrise to bask in the warmth on either side.





	Augur

**Author's Note:**

> Chronologically speaking this is actually somewhere in the midpoint of Mareridt but the image of all three of them cuddled up in bed wouldn't leave me so... you get this ficlet first.

He woke up first, because he always woke up first—old habit, hard to break. Further down the road, in the human village that bordered on the edges of the Nachtwald, Horatio had the same damn problem; the Order was a lot of things, but religiously punctual was _ definitely _ one of them. Since he was always in the middle of the pile, it meant he got an hour or two before sunrise to bask in the warmth on either side.

Josh slept with a pillow between them, his face turned into the soft fabric. It’d hurt a little the first couple nights he’d done it, but Marcus got it now. Much as he might like touching, Josh was a little sensitive to too much sensation for too long, and sleep was when he tried to decompress. 

Besides, Wrench more than made up for it, his gangly limbs a hot tangle around Marcus’s waist, one bony wrist jammed up under Marcus’s head. Which, okay, it hurt, but it was the kind of hurt that was fond and familiar, a slight ache that was meaningless in the long run. Compared to some of the other hurts he’d had in his lifetime, one witch’s bad sleep habits was nothing. Marcus smiled and trailed a finger along the tattoos on Wrench’s wrist, then popped his hip just hard enough to get a grunt.

“Hey,” he said softly, watching Wrench’s nose wrinkle, “wake up.”

“The sun isn’t even up yet,” Wrench whined, his pretty blue eyes remaining stubbornly closed.

“I’ve been listening to you snore for almost an hour,” Marcus told him, smoothing his palm over the edge of Wrench’s hip, thumb dragging along the elegant runes that covered it. This one was new, the ink still fresh and dark, not yet worn thin by the sun.

“That sounds like a _ you _ problem.” Nevertheless, Wrench was smiling, his good eye finally cracking open as he shifted. The witchbrand burned into the side of his face wasn’t as vivid in the dim light of early morning, could be something as small as a misplaced shadow if Marcus looked at it just right, but he could still feel the throb of it in his magic sense.

His fingers curled around Wrench’s cheek and Marcus lifted his head long enough to let the witch free his wrist. There was a brief tangle of confusion when they couldn’t figure out who was going to end up on top, and then Wrench was sitting on his stomach, smug as anything, a tingle of magic crackling along his fingertips. Marcus spread his fingers over the lovingly marked skin of Wrench’s thighs, then held a finger to his lips.

“Don’t wake Josh up,” he warned.

“I’m already up,” Josh said, cheek tucked against his pillow. He hadn’t been for long if the way he was blinking was any indication, and both of them winced.

“Didn’t mean to wake you.” Marcus did his best to look apologetic, which was hard when Wrench was grinding on him.

“Are you joining in?” Wrench asked with a wide smile, not even pretending like he was sorry.

Josh considered it, and Marcus wondered what the three of them must look like to some outside observer—a hunter gone rogue, being seduced by some wily witch, both of them trying to tempt a pious alchemist into sin. Which they were absolutely doing, for the record. Given enough time, he was pretty sure Wrench could tempt anyone into _ anything _, even if Marcus was usually the one planning their terrible exploits. Really, if they didn’t have Josh’s level head making the magic happen, they’d have gone and gotten themselves killed by now.

“Yeah,” Josh said thoughtfully, reaching out to rest a hand over Wrench’s nipple, “I think I will.”

One very productive hour later, Marcus cracked an egg into a skillet over the hearth, watching it sizzle with a critical eye. He’d checked in on Sitara’s greenhouse, but she hadn’t been around—since they were expecting the dame blanche to arrive today, he figured she’d gone down the road to meet her. If they were lucky, it would be Clara. She and Sitara had a _ thing _of some kind, and it meant that they were guaranteed an invitation to the next fete, which was important because Josh needed a new supplier of adamantine.

Marcus didn’t pretend to understand even half of what Josh got up to in the workshop, studious and methodical in counterpoint to Wrench’s barely controlled chaos, but whatever it was, it was important. Since Josh’s experience with theurgy was sort of the whole reason their presence was tolerated in the Nachtwald at all, Marcus tried not to be fussed about it. It made his head itch though. Not as bad as Wrench did sometimes, between his tattoos and the witchbrand the Order had left on him, but it was still an itch. Hunters weren’t meant to spend time with the things they hunted.

He cracked another egg into the pan, scooping the first out and depositing it on a plate. The thick slabs of bacon were still warm, a heavy mash of oatmeal separated into three bowls, and with this egg, he’d be done with breakfast. In his own words, he was the useless one, so he got stuck with the domestic stuff more often. That Wrench was _ fucking abysmal _ in the kitchen was a factor too.

“Foooood,” the witch in question moaned, making grabbing gestures when Marcus carted the plates out into the small windowed nook that overlooked the outdoor gardens. Just to be a dick, Marcus grinned and handed Josh a plate first, kissing the rigid leather of Wrench’s mask before setting their plates down too.

“Someday, you’re going to learn to be polite,” he said, sitting down on the bench and stretching his legs out. Across from him, Josh was still buried in a heavy book, his fingers carefully plucking at the thin pages.

“Only on pain of death,” Wrench said, his lips curled in a grin when he lifted his mask to eat.

“Yeah, I’d like to see you say that to Sitara.” Marcus shook his head and dug in, watching Josh shut the tome carefully and turn towards his own food. These magicians, man. Given half the chance, they’d all starve in the pursuit of knowledge.

“Well, she’d actually kill me, wouldn’t she?”

“Probably,” Josh said, in the same thoughtful, even tone he said most things. “She might bring you back though. And if she didn’t, I always could.”

_ That _ was the reason Josh was out here, with a hunter turned traitor and the witch he’d spat on the Order to free. Because even if Josh was one of the best, even if Josh was better at theurgy and alchemy and ever other teaching, philosophical or otherwise, of the hermeticists that had aligned themselves with the Order, even if he was touched by God as some of them claimed—he wanted to learn things that were forbidden to learn. He wanted to help people, even if they were the kind of people that the Order said deserved the horrors inflicted on them.

Josh didn’t discriminate between human and monster when it came to doing good works. Marcus figured that was the reason he was the best of them, though it had led to Horatio breaking him out and running halfway across the world to find Marcus instead. If Josh didn’t discriminate between good and evil knowledge either, well, that was probably Marcus’s old Order training speaking more than his common sense.

“I think raising a witch would backfire _ extremely _ quickly,” Wrench said, tapping one of the complicated runes on his arm.

“Only if proper precautions weren’t taken, and depending on the method of death. It’d be harder if you were burned to ash.” There was a distant look in Josh’s eye, like he’d seized on a new pet project to investigate. Which, okay, maybe not the _ worst _ one so far (ritual spirit summoning had been the worst one, especially because Josh was stubborn about assuming results without proof) but—

“Can we save the ‘Wrench’s inevitable death and how we’re gonna quest around to revive him’ talk until dinner at least?” Marcus asked. He just didn’t like thinking about the men he loved dying horribly. Maybe that made him a weakling with too many worldly attachments, but hey, Horatio had kids now. Marcus was _ so _ not the worst one about that.

They both made noises of acquiescence, though Josh still had that look in his eye. Which meant Marcus was going to find himself ass deep in a Natchwald bog looking for wisp hearts or something, he’d bet. It’d be easier to be upset about it if he wasn’t so hopelessly fond of Josh, and hopelessly aware of the fact that Wrench would find some reason to follow him out to the bog too.

These guys. What the hell was he going to do with them?

The bang of the front door opening distracted him, his hand dropping automatically to the sword that wasn’t on his hip. It was just Sitara—well, Sitara and the dame blanche, Clara’s white streaks of hair glowing faintly in the dawn light. Both of them were dressed for travel, though Clara eschewed the trappings of her sisters and wore black leathers rather than white gauze. Given how far she had to travel, it was sensible.

“Interrupting anything fun?” she asked, her lilting accent adding to the amusement in her voice.

“I’m trying to figure out how to bring Wrench back from the dead,” Josh said, stirring his oatmeal carefully to make sure it was the perfect temperature.

“I’m trying to figure out the best way to die for my inevitable resurrection.” Wrench flashed them both a grin before pulling his mask down and standing up to clean off his plate. He always ate the fastest of them, even more so than Marcus and Horatio who were used to eating on the road. Given how rare it was to get food in an Order prison, Marcus couldn’t blame him.

“I’m herding cats,” Marcus said dryly, leaning back to clasp her wrist in greeting before turning his attention to Sitara. “Anything interesting?”

“All quiet on the southern front. Clara rode the elf roads to get here, which meant we didn’t see much outside of other folk, though there’s rumors about some mess up north, apparently. You haven’t heard anything from Horatio?” Sitara stripped out of her leathers with casual ease, unbothered by the fact that four other people were in the room with her. Then again, with her in the room, Marcus couldn’t feel the others in the back of his skull anymore, his magic sense drowning in her presence. It wasn't like they could ever be a threat in the first place.

Someday, he’d figure out what she was. The Order compendiums didn’t stretch to whatever land she’d come from, and he had the suspicion they weren’t old enough to even guess properly. She was like the Beast, ancient and impossibly powerful. They were pretty lucky she was also on their side.

Like she was reading his mind (something that Marcus had experience with, so the lack of burn from his brand was enough to reassure him that she _ wasn’t_) Sitara continued, “There’s a fete happening in the Nachtwald, and then another on the Rhenos. Clara has invitations to both, and the dwarves are more likely to be at the second, so I’ll take Josh to that one.”

“There’s fetes in the Nachtwald?” Josh asked, momentarily diverted from his fascination with resurrection.

“I thought the old bastard wouldn’t let anyone hold them.” Marcus handed his own cleaned plate off to Wrench, who was scrubbing and listening simultaneously.

“Get this: he’s hosting the fete himself.” Sitara paused, long enough for all of them to absorb that fact, then tipped her head towards Clara. “I didn’t believe it either. Clara said that all the folk were told he was hosting, though.”

“The trolls are going to be there at least,” Clara said, leaning against the table. “It is strange though, is it not? Apparently he has a new diversion out there, and it’s made him pleasant enough to let the elves back in. It’s a rare thing, after the insult they dealt him some centuries ago.”

“Any idea what the diversion is?” Marcus asked, brow furrowing. His brand twinged with something like foreboding, and from the way Wrench reached towards his left eye, he felt the same. Not a good thing, if both of them were getting that kind of warning from the ebb and flow of magic around them.

Clara’s eyes were sad in a way that only the fairyfolk could be, ancient and all too knowing. “No. But whoever the poor bastard is, I would not like to be him.”


End file.
